


breaking free

by Ejunkiet



Series: corvidae and whiskey [5]
Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: An Ending, F/M, Turning Points, and a new beginning, and undercover work, clip on ties and implied bad dancing, of sorts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2017-11-27
Packaged: 2019-02-07 08:38:11
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12837435
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ejunkiet/pseuds/Ejunkiet
Summary: Somewhere between the door closing and the first couple of steps into her apartment, they come together.





	breaking free

**Author's Note:**

> This is part five (and the official end) of the corvidae and whiskey series! This leads directly on from ‘way down we go’, but it can also stand alone.
> 
> This has been a long time coming, and has been waiting in my drafts for way too long. thanks to devilbunnyking for cheering on the final section! 
> 
> The title refers to the song 'breaking free' by night riots !

It’s late, later than usual for her on a work night, and the yellow cast of the streetlights wash the colour out of the world around them as she walks with Frank along the river and through the winding streets of downtown New York. They’re not far from her apartment now, and she’s barefoot, her heels swinging from one hand as she curls the other around his proffered arm, warm and solid beneath her grip.

It’s been a good night. She can’t remember the last time she’d had a chance to let go like this, _really_ let go. She glances to the side, tracing Frank’s profile beside her. He looks relaxed, at ease; a rare occurrence of late, and she thinks it’s been a while for him, too.

Frank’s dressed well, in a tailored jacket that’s thankfully nothing like the one he’d worn in his trial. His hair is long enough that he’s combed it back for the evening, but he’d refused outright to wear a tie (“I’m not going to willingly garrotte myself, Karen.”). In the end, they’d settled on a compromise: a clip-on, expensive and tasteful enough for the difference to be subtle.

Together like this, nobody would give them a second glance. Tonight, they were just another couple enjoying the company of each other as they made their way through the city.

\--

It’s not often Karen has an excuse to dress up. After rumours of a new player in the kitchen, she’d caught wind of a meeting between the heads of the Kitchen’s resident gangs to discuss the problem. The meet was scheduled for opening night of a fancy club on the other side of town, and she’d had to pull more than a few strings to get her hands on an invitation. The rumours had been vague at best, but if there was something to them, if there _was_ a new player in town, she had to know. She needed to be there.

When Frank had found out about her plans to infiltrate the place (in the end, she’d had to tell him _something_ , just in case she didn’t make it out), he’d insisted on accompanying her, despite her protestations.

“No disrespect, but you must be crazy if you think I’m going to let you walk into this place alone.”

“I thought you might say that.” She’d anticipated this development, taking a breath to steady herself before she continues, “and it just so happens that I have a plus one. I have one condition, however.”

He glances up from where he’s been cleaning his guns, his hands marked with polish and smudges of black as he fits together the glock he had been working with and places it carefully on the table. Folding his hands into his lap, he meets her gaze. “Name it.”

“No guns, Frank.”

He’d glanced at her askance and she’d matched his look, not relenting an inch until he agrees, “no guns.”

True to his word, he’d left the majority of his extensive military arsenal at home. She doesn’t say anything when he slips a thin serrated knife into his sock, and he doesn’t comment when she slips a can of mace into her clutch bag.

This had been their first joint stakeout together. The place is nice – expensive, something she’d definitely never be able to afford on a journalist’s salary, and she’s grateful for her company credit card when she pays the down payment at the door and opens a tab at the bar.

Frank hovers there while she navigates the room, memorizing names and faces for further research later. Later, he shares stories with her over a few drinks, plays guessing games with her about the nearby patrons and makes her snort into her cocktail, keep her spirits high.

But in spite of all her research, all of her preparation -- her target never shows.

That should have been the end of it. Normally, it would have, but there’s something in the air tonight, a pull that leads to her ordering another round of drinks, then another. She even invites Frank to join her out on the floor, and to her surprise he accepts. It’s like he’s a different man here, a smile teasing at the edges of his lips, his hands on her shoulders, her hips, the press of him close against her back as they move to the thrum of the bass.

They stay – and it’s new, different. Dangerous. The sleek cut of her dress is elegant while verging on the edge of risqué, and when she catches Frank’s eyes on her more than once, she can’t say that it wasn’t having the intended effect.

They stay out until the night sky has begun to lighten into dawn and Frank offers to walk her home.

\--

On the steps outside her apartment building, Karen comes to a decision, and when she turns to face him, she says, “You should come up, Frank. Have a coffee.”

He holds her gaze; they both know what she’s asking, as she’s asked him before. He always turns her down.

He has his reasons, and she gets it - really she does, but that doesn’t stop her from asking. There’ll always be a multitude of reasons why he shouldn’t, but he neglects the few important reasons why he _should_.

(They’d acknowledged this thing between them, this unspoken thing that she tried not to think about when they worked closely together on a case, a slew of nights spent side by side, arm to arm. She could tell in the way Frank’s eyes followed her at times that he tried not to think about it, too.)

Still, she’s prepared for Frank’s rejection, which is why she’s surprised when he holds her gaze and says yes.

She reaches out to him then, taking his hand; softly, cautiously, and his thumb rubs along her knuckles as he returns her grip. Unlocking the front door of her apartment building, she leads him into the narrow hallway and up the rickety stairs to her apartment, her heartbeat a heavy pulse in the base of her throat.

\--

(“Are you nervous?”

Karen glances back at him to find Frank’s eyes on her, painted black in the dim light of the hallway. He’s relaxed, the tension gone from his shoulders, the side of his mouth curled into a smile, and something within her settles. She shakes her head and turns the question back on him. “Are you?”

He laughs, ducking his head down and away, his gaze flickering around the empty hallway, old habits dying hard. There’s a smirk at the corner of his mouth when he glances back to her, holding her gaze as he asks, “what would you do if I said I was?”

“I’m not sure.” She gets the door unlocked and turns to face him, finding he’s moved closer: there’s barely more than a few inches between them now. “But I’m sure I could think of something.”)

\--

Somewhere between the door closing and the first couple of steps into her apartment, they come together.

His hands are on her, around her, pulling her closer, and his mouth on hers feels like molten fire, sending shivers down her spine. He tastes of mint and tequila, a lingering reminder of the mojitos they’d been drinking, and she can’t get enough of _this,_ the feel of him beneath her hands as she reaches for him, and he moves to her throat.

His hands slide down her back as he kisses her neck, hooking around her thighs until he can lift her up, high enough for her to wrap her legs around him, and then they’re making their way through her apartment to her bedroom, and this, _this_ , is the turning point. The point of no return - and she has to catch her breath, reaching down to cup his face in her hands and bring him back up to her.

Frank looks at her, then, his eyes dark, pupils dilated, and although neither of them have had enough to drink to blame this on alcohol, they could still end this here and now - pretend it never happened, if they wanted to.

(She doesn’t want to.)

“Frank, is this -?”

He leans forward, pressing a kiss to her cheekbone, the creases at the corner of her eye, as his hands slide up to tangle his fingers in her hair. His breath is on her cheek, and he is everywhere, and she’s right where she wants to be. She thinks that he is, too.

 “Yeah, yeah, it is.”


End file.
